Of Dancing Dreams and Silver Sunlight
by Old Fiat
Summary: Maybe it's because he's always sick, just in ways people cannot see—his mind slowly splitting in half as the full moon approaches: one half human, one half ravaging beast...


**Of Dancing Dreams and Silver Sunlight**

Old Fiat

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously. Not even my pants.

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Remus Lupin rarely slept at night.

The pull of the moon was too strong then. Its light shone on to his face, keeping him awake and holding open his wounds from the previous full moon. It flowed, silvery-blue, through his window and lit up something just behind his golden-brown eyes. It was beautiful and it burnt him inside. An ache, a pull, waking him just as he lingered along the edge of unconsciousness.

It was one of the reasons why he appeared sickly a lot of the time: lack of proper sleep—except for once a month—would affect a person eventually. However, he just could never seem to sleep at night, not when the moon was shining in through his window. Maybe he seemed sick because he never really ate. Werewolves tend to not be frequently welcomed for meals or even allowed to perform menial labor and he often went for weeks without any proper meals. Maybe it was both of these things in combination.

_Or maybe it's because he's always sick, just in ways people cannot see—his mind slowly splitting in half as the full moon approaches: one half human, one half ravaging beast..._

He could sleep on the night of the new moon, when the sky became an inky black curtain flecked with tiny stars. It was during the new moon when he felt the most in control over himself and his actions. His mind was straight forward and rational, his view of the world unwarped by his baser half. As the full moon shank into total invisibility, his eyes would change from a bright, pure gold to a warm, chocolaty brown, accented by hints of green. On these nights, he would lie down in bed, shut his eyes and soon drift off into a long, peaceful sleep—uninterrupted by memories and dreams or bits of bright, silvery light.

However, it was during the day when he usually slept, with rays of golden sunlight hitting his face, warming him. The sun made him feel wholly human and that peace of mind always let him sleep, long and silent, with only the slow rising and falling of his ribcage as a sign of life. He loved to sleep with the sun on his face because the heat it created was warmer than any blanket or heater, and he always hated the cold.

_It's because of his father that he hates the cold; his cold, sad father, who spent half his time being moved from one department to another in the Ministry of Magic because no one could bare to fire a man who had lost his wife. The other half he spent staring at old photographs, almost forgetting the present as he tried to remember the past. Remus hates the cold because of his father and he knows it, but he would never admit it..._

His friends used to tease him about sleeping during the day when he was at school. His three best friends: Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail. They called him 'Moony' even before they worked out his "condition", because of the way he would stare off into space, into the full moon that always rested just beyond his reach, inside his own mind. They themselves had their own names—James, Sirius and Peter, respectively, but he could never think of them as that. Not after everything.

Because in his mind they would always be Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail—the three closest friends he would ever have, who, whenever he did manage to sleep, occupied his dreams. In his mind's eye, he could still see them—Prongs and Padfoot joking together, laughing, always knowing what the other was thinking and Wormtail, with his thin, fair hair curling slightly at the ends and his light, warm laugh.

But now Prongs and Wormtail were gone. Dead. Killed by the man whom Remus had once almost viewed as his best friend: Sirius Black.

_It was Sirius who killed Peter and caused the deaths of James and his wife because Padfoot... Padfoot would never have done it. Padfoot was Remus' best friend and would never, ever betray any of them. And even though, in the back of his mind, he knows Sirius and Padfoot are one in the same, Remus has to assure himself that Sirius Black is the killer, not the shaggy dog animagus with whom he had been so close. It's another split in Remus' mind—the beast tortures the human with the truth and it's killing him, ever so slowly..._

However, sometimes, on very rare occasions, as the light of the moon was filtered in through the window pane, Remus did sleep. But usually on these nights, he dreamed not of his friends, but of his mother, of her death. He dreamed of sticky dark pools of blood, of pain, of cries for help and no responses, of the silver light which to him meant only horror, only loss...

The loss of humanity.

And he would always awaken from these dreams all too suddenly, sick and sweaty, but, for once, relieved to be conscious.

_He never dares to tell his father that these are the only memories he has of his mother, kept in his mind only by trauma and fear, because he knows that would make his father only suffer more pain and he doesn't want that, because even though he is cold and always looks at Remus as though he is, not a person, but a mere shadow of the person he loved the most, Remus loves him, with all his heart..._

Even though he rarely enters it fully, Remus preferred the world of sleep, of dreams. It was better than his own, or at least an escape from it, because his own world was filled with hatred, with cold, with dancing silver light...

Remus knew he should have long become accustomed to the hate, to having doors slammed shut in his face, to being viewed—correctly, in his mind—as less-than-human, but it was difficult, knowing he had once had three friends who had not cared, had loved him for, what he was. It was so difficult knowing that, to ever receive that sort of affection again, he would have to lie, to dream a character to hide behind, to split himself once again.

And he couldn't do that anymore, not when he was so tired...

And he was exhausted...

_He loves to dream with the sun on his face, the voices of his old friends echoing through his butchered mind, healing it once more. He dreams of warmth and of all things golden. He dreams of Padfoot and Prongs and Wormtail, of all of them smiling. He dreams of things that are whole, that are human. He dreams of his father and of the sun. He dreams of stars and of worlds beyond his reach. He dreams of days long past and of those which never began._

_ And he sleeps peacefully, lost in the land of dreams..._

_And in his dream, Padfoot is there, stretched out beside him on the soft, grassy lawns. His smooth, pale face is exactly the way it once was when they were younger with his turned up, slightly pink nose and faint dark circles under his eyes from staying up too late, but he is not smiling. He turns to Remus, his face suddenly twisted with remorse._

_ And he opens his mouth, ready to speak..._

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron—"

"Come in and sit down—"

_Outside voices are coming in and the golden light on Padfoot's face is turning cold. The air is suddenly freezing and he can't hear what his friend is saying to him..._

"Not here!" cried another voice. "I'm here!"

Remus opened his eyes, slowly, reluctantly. He wanted to know what—

"Ouch!"

"Quiet!" It was his own voice, but he was hardly aware of saying anything.

All the voices stopped and, for a moment, he was tempted to simply go back to sleep.

But the dream was already gone and the world was cold, dark and lonely once more.

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_All characters referenced © J. K. Rowling_

_The final dialogue is from __Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban__._


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